


Early

by invisius



Category: One Direction
Genre: How Do I Tag, M/M, Pre-Relationship, cause there's never enough of those, coffee shop AU, college students, harry is the hot barista™, liam does crossfit, louis just wants to drink his coffee in peace, zayn is a resident sex god that eats pizza all day, ziam if you squint a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisius/pseuds/invisius
Summary: “Pick your poison.”It escaped neither man’s notice that Louis was caught in the way that the fabric of Harry’s white work shirt bunched around his shoulders. It took another cough, this time from the other side of the counter, before Louis realized that Harry was now waiting for him to actually answer him. Fidgeting with the cuff of his glove, Louis tried to smile.“Earl Grey,” he said quickly, hoping that it was actually somewhere on the board. “Scorching.”





	Early

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been in the works for a while, wrote it on my phone, so I apologise if the formatting is weird or something. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. It's a bit of a Louis-centric Drabbly thing. My first time posting for this fandom, though I've been in it for a while, so I hope it's turned out in character and decent enough. Enjoy :)

Early.

That was the only thing he could think of.

If he’d been paying attention he could have looked up at the sky and watched the gorgeous clouds wisp along, or maybe he would have noticed the drops of dew that still littered the petals of what little flora left in the city, still frozen and reflecting the light from the morning sun.

But he wasn’t. 

Because it was too damn early in the morning for Louis Tomlinson to be conscious – to say nothing of whether or not he was able to be a functioning member of society. And it was – he checked his watch, eyes glossing slightly to make it harder to read the numbers – balls o’clock in the morning, anyway.   
On a damn school day too. 

The wind shifted, which made him glad that he had grabbed his shearling-lined trench coat this morning on his way out the door. When did the beginning of December get this bloody cold anyway? He pulled his woolen beige scarf closer to his neck, and shifted his bag for a better grip. He could have sworn the walk to uni hadn’t been this long. Pausing briefly, Louis lifted a hand and gingerly rubbed at his eyes, trying to rid them of the sleep that just wouldn’t seem to go away. It didn’t work. Every step he took felt heavy, and his usual enthusiastic – mostly due to a high concentration of caffeine – gait was just downright slow. 

At least the city was quiet, he thought as he worked up the muster to keep moving. Then again the fact that there weren’t very many people about only seemed to add to his idea that he just needed to go back home. 

“Bloody cold,” he muttered, watching the vapor from his breath rise in the air. “Why did I have to take a class this early?”   
Just as Louis was turning on his heel, more than prepared to stalk home and claim what little sleep he could in what was probably his still warm bed, his caught sight of a building out of the corner of his eye. 

It was small, almost quaint compared to the other buildings surrounding it, and the door had a carefully crafted ‘welcome’ sign decorated with the same festive decorations as the shop’s windows. Even through the thick glass he could smell brewing coffee beans in the early morning air, followed closely by freshly baked goods. He took another quick look at the décor, hedges covered in holly, and flowers that Louis couldn’t name boxing the windows. There was also a great deal of garland lining the roof, but he decided that he wouldn’t hold that against them.   
He normally wasn’t a coffee man. Actually, he had never been preferential to coffee, preferring to take his caffeine with milk and honey. But he stared at the brightly lit display anyway, wondering how he had missed it up until now. 

“I’m already up,” he decided as he flexed his hands inside his gloves. “I might as well find a way to stay awake while I’m at it.” Louis pushed open the glass door carefully, small jingling bells welcoming him in, and took in the rest of the café.   
Turned out, the inside was just as inviting as the out.

The walls were a soft mocha, with a mahogany bar in the corner. There were six, maybe seven, high topped tables, spread evenly around the place. Their table tops the same warm wood as the bar. A few booths were strategically placed in the periphery, quaint teacup candles illuminating their shiny tops. The entire atmosphere was homey, down to the early Christmas decorations, which seemed to add warmth, instead of the usual kitsch, to the place. 

Suddenly Louis wasn’t as eager to get back to his bed. 

He was startled out of his reverie by a mop of brown hair popping up from behind the bar, as the missing barista seemed to make an appearance. 

In the back of his sleep-addled mind, Louis had already named him Curly, and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was now a patron standing in the café, silver bells above the door notwithstanding. Louis took his obliviousness as an excuse to take a closer look, studying the man’s features as he organized things behind the bar. He was tall – a good two inches taller than Louis himself – with a thin, pastel head scarf holding his thick curls back away from his face. And how on earth did the man manage a tan in the middle of winter? The standard café black apron was a little loose around Curly’s waist, but it added to the stylistically disheveled look that he exuded.

His black slacks left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

It was entirely possible that Louis could bounce a quarter off of that bum.   
His breath caught in his throat then, and one awkward cough lead to blue meeting green as Curly was startled, nearly dropping whatever it was that he had been holding.

And Louis didn’t really want to question why his brain was suddenly caught up with how ‘green’ was the wrong descriptor for Curly’s eyes. 

They were green, he supposed, but they weren’t, in their own way. The inner rim of the iris was a softer green – sea foam maybe? – And the outer blended to an emerald or jade. It was quite possible that Louis could get lost in those eyes. Maybe he already was. 

“Uh, hello.” 

Blinking slightly, Louis automatically nodded. “Hi,” he mumbled, forcing himself to ignore the electricity in favor of finding something to say. When Curly didn’t speak, he smiled. “You all right over there?” 

“Yes,” Harry, his nametag covered in holiday snowmen wearing top hats read, seemed to stumble over the words.   
“Thank you,” he added as an afterthought. He set down whatever had been in his hands and slid over to the register, Louis moving to meet him. 

“Sorry, I’m a bit clumsy, and you may have surprised me a little.”

“Sorry,” Louis smiled at the taller boy and played with the hem of his scarf. He allowed his eyes to wander over the shop again. “Wouldn’t reckon you sell Earl Grey here, would you Harold?” He turned to the man again. 

“Name’s Harry,” Curly replied even as he beamed at him. Louis actually had to look away from the taller man’s dimples. “And of course we do.” He pointed to the antique blackboard on the far wall, where neat yet stylistic handwriting announced both bagged and loose-leafed offerings. 

“Pick your poison.” 

It escaped neither man’s notice that Louis was caught in the way that the fabric of Harry’s white work shirt bunched around his shoulders. It took another cough, this time from the other side of the counter, before Louis realized that Harry was now waiting for him to actually answer him. Fidgeting with the cuff of his glove, Louis tried to smile. 

“Earl Grey,” he said quickly, hoping that it was actually somewhere on the board. “Scorching.” When Harry raised an eyebrow, Louis smiled again. “With honey, if you’ve got some. And a splash of milk.” 

Harry held up the paper cup, saluting teasingly. “Yes sir,” he laughed. “Would you like a pastry with that? Made them myself.” He pointed to the other end of the counter, where a clean glass case proclaimed offerings of another sort.   
Like coffee, Louis had never really been one for sweets. Give him a good piece of fruit or newton any day. But there was no way that he could possibly pass up the chance to try something that his newly found barista turned baker had made.   
He moved closer to the case, trying to appear as if he was peering into the glass with a considerate eye. There were lemon bars on the top shelf, golden and delectable looking with a pinch of zest on top of powdered sugar. Cupcakes with icing curly-q’s on top, some with sprinkles, others with drizzles of syrup. Louis recognized shortcake muffins topped with cream and freshly cut strawberries, and an entire column of scones and danishes. And on top of it all, in a glass display of it’s very own was an impressive braided pastry that – if the signage was to be believed – boasted of spicy chicken sausage, two kinds of cheese and scrambled eggs. 

"What would you recommend?” He ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip. 

“Depends really,” Harry was suddenly on the other side of the glass, dropping a splash of milk into the cup before setting the lid on, but not pushing down. “Did you want something sweet, something rich, savory?” He motioned to the far side of the glass. “I’ve a few customers who enjoy tiramisu for breakfast. Not overly sweet, but contains espresso.” Another quick motion, and Louis followed his gesticulations to the opposite side of the glass. “The cherry cheese danish just might give you diabetes.” 

“You make a very convincing argument for your tiramisu, Harold.” Louis pointed, and Harry didn’t have to wait for further confirmation, reaching behind him for a plate to put the treat on with one hand as he popped the case open with the other.   
It didn’t even look like he was paying any attention, dropping a carefully carved slice onto the burgundy plate and embellishing it with a black plastic fork. 

“I can bring your change to you, if you’d like to sit down.” Harry grinned as he took the pound notes, the look on Louis’s face saying that he didn’t expect change out of the money that he’d gave him. Did Louis even look at the prices?

Shaking his head as if to shrug it off, Louis turned and headed to the closest empty booth. And if he dramatically flipped his bangs when he twirled off his coat, well who was there to judge him? His scarf went next, because the café was a great deal warmer than the morning air, and he readjusted the hem of his grey peppered jumper over his black skinnies before dropping to the wood. Louis thanked himself for his ability to not look completely disheveled – even getting dressed in the dark – smiling cheekily as he dipped his fork into his unconventional breakfast. 

Harry was obviously taking his time getting the change. It wasn’t like he was in a hurry to leave though. He cleaned up the station where he’d made the tea, mop of curls moving behind the counter, before moving to wipe the pastry knife clean. Louis ate his pastry in silence, all ready deciding that he could see himself coming here more often on his way in to school. For the tea and pastry, of course. Most certainly not to see the doe-eyed barista, humming to himself as he finally popped the register closed. 

“I just realized that you know my name,” Harry was on his way over to the booth. “But I haven’t been given yours.”   
His grin was almost a permanent fixture on his face now, eyes crinkling. “Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” 

Harry seemed to consider this as he skirted past a tall chair. “So Louis, Louis Tomlinson,” he stopped in front of the table. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Uni,” Louis smiled around his bite. “Alarm went off a bit early, and I thought I’d get a head start.” His change was set on the table in front of him, and he nodded appreciatively. Before he could stop himself, he looked up at the barista. “What about you?”  
And yes, he did realize that that question had just come out of his mouth.   
Because Harry was obviously up this early so he could work in this café.  
Where he was a barista.  
Doing his job.

But Harry didn’t seem deterred, teasing smirk fully in place as he balanced his hip on the table. “Actually,” he scratched his chin, as he seemed to ponder the question. “I think I’m up this early so I can enjoy the view.” 

Louis forced himself not to stab his tongue with his fork – as he tried to swallow both – and cast a glance outside to give himself a moment to reclaim his thoughts. 

It was getting considerably lighter outside, and the sun was starting to filter past the roofs of the taller buildings, casting a glow on the street itself. A few of the cars – not nearly equal to that of the walkers or bikers – rolled past lazily. He focused on the bundled forms of the people who had seemed to filter out of nowhere, making their way to their jobs, or to school.  
Uni.  
Fuck!

“I have to say that I completely agree with you, Harold.” Louis shoved the last bite of his tiramisu into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of tea. 

“Harry,” he was corrected, the dark-haired man’s eyebrows quirking.

Louis turned sideways in the booth, pulling his scarf over his head as he stood. Harry didn’t bother to step back to give him room as he shrugged on his coat, buttoning the two middle buttons to keep the cold at bay. “But,” he pulled the ends of his scarf out of his jacket, “I’m gonna be late if I don’t get moving.” Half an hour ago he was itching for a reason to ditch class. Louis almost kicked himself even as he said it. Why was he so eager to get to it now?

Beside him, Harry snorted. “It was lovely meeting you, Louis Tomlinson.” His smile was genuine, blinding Louis for a moment. He almost wondered if he had dreamed this boy up. He was almost too perfect. 

He was fairly certain that he had at least muttered ‘you too,’ on his way to the door, tea in hand and his bag over his shoulder. He put a little more emphasis in his swagger, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. Was it too much to hope for that Harry was watching him walk away? 

“Wait!” There was a deep drawl of urgency in Harry’s voice, and Louis paused with his hand on the door to turn back at the table. “You forgot your change.” The coins were in Harry’s hand, the taller boy moving closer to give them away. He was still smiling though – God bless dimples – and Louis had to question whether or not his cheeks hurt. 

He waited until the taller boy was almost a foot away, their eyes holding steadily, before shaking his head. “No I didn’t.” He gave the door a quick pull, inviting the cooler air into the space. It jolted him back to reality at least. They were close enough that Louis could see the hair on Harry’s neck stand up at the assault. “See you again sometime.” He readjusted his coat one-handed, then gave Harry a small wave through the shop window,   
He most certainly would. 

-

“So you rushed out of there, sweating you were late,” disbelief clouded his features as the one and only Zayn Malik took in this information. “But you still wound up sitting here waiting for class for, like, 20 minutes?” His eyebrow quirked as he tried not to laugh. 

Zayn Malik.   
Campus’s resident sex god.   
He was also Louis best mate, or personal adviser. It really depended on the day of the week. 

He was an art major – which meant he was able to personify the starving artist and the sophisticated hipster all in the same afternoon – and he had recently started branching out into graphic designing. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a good artist. It never ceased to amaze Louis that he could pop out a doodle even as he was flirting with pretty girl and handsome bloke alike. And they always looked amazing. Not that you’d get Zayn to admit it. And he was insanely smart, which was something that Louis hadn’t first pegged him as, being an art major. Not offense intended. He was constantly finishing up his lecture work and sketches which allowed him plenty of time to do other things. 

Such as binge watch classic Marvel movies, and comment on Louis’s lack of love life. 

A quick look up, and Louis realized that Zayn was actually waiting for a response.   
“What of it?” Louis shrugged, hoping for nonchalance. Being reminded of his poor time management skills led him back to the dangerous curly haired territory, Which probably did nothing to help his indifference. 

“At which point did I lose ya, Lou?” Zayn didn’t have to ask where his friend’s mind had gone, smirking and dropping his tray to the table so he could sling his bag off his shoulders. “Just tell me where to send the gift basket,” when his friend dropped to the table beside him, he quirked another perfectly manicured brow. “Finally found a way to shut you up.”  
Huffing slightly, Louis tried to take offense to that. Really he did. But he honestly couldn’t say it wasn’t true. 

“Just stating facts, babe.” Zayn took a bit of his turkey sandwich, sparing a pointed look to his mate. 

Across the table, Louis sighed onto his fork as he slurped his pasta. There were days when he wished that his glare did a little more than to embolden his best mate. Then again, he’d never been this affected by a guy before. He could barely remember arriving to the cafeteria, much less picking up his food, and who the hell knew when he had managed to get out his story about this morning’s café trip.   
God this was so fucking annoying.   
“Louis,” a finger snapped just in front of his nose and Louis snapped to, almost dropping his fork. Zayn was practically singing his name now, moving both hands in front of Louis face. “So,” he popped a crisp into his mouth playfully. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Do about what?” It was official, Louis was lost.

“’Arry,” thin pink lips responded around his bread.

Louis sputtered, choking on his noodles and trying to swallow. It took him a moment to regain his breathing and he took a swallow of his bottled water with a practiced grin. “What are you going to do ‘bout Liam?” He countered, internal pat on the back for a well thought out response and all.

Zayn raised a hand to the back of his neck to attempt to hide the flush. Ten more points to Tomlinson. Bringing up a certain fraternity boy always seemed to bring out the schoolboy in Zayn. That frat boy being the one and only Liam Payne, hobby CrossFit trainee and finance major extraordinaire. 

It was, after all, nonnegotiable that Zayn was attractive. Girls. Guys. There really wasn’t a limit to who was attracted to him, or who he casually threw his affections on. But for his bronze skin, chocolate eyes, and the dark pitch he called hair that was always done perfectly no matter if he just rolled out of bed hung-over or not, unfortunately he was a bit of a bum. Zayn would rather binge watch Netflix and eat his weight in carbs than do anything that remotely resembled exercise. 

And that’s just what he wanted Louis to keep on believing. 

Because it would be easier than admitting that he’d actually signed up for some sort of rowing training so he can officially start CrossFit training in the spring. It really was a shame that Zayn was shit at any form of espionage. Twice now he’s let it slip that he can’t eat something because it’s not healthy, or it would affect his performance. 

And if he cares that much, it’s safe to say that he’s pretty infatuated with Liam.   
Not that Louis can actually get him to admit it. 

“Absolutely nothing.” The scowl on Zayn’s lips would have said it all, if Louis couldn’t read his tone. The older man has done everything he could to keep that part of his private life private, and Louis just sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I refuse to make the first move.”

Louis was fairly certain water had just come out of his nose. Could Zayn hear himself speak? “So you’re just planning on gazing at him longingly and willing him to come to you? How do you even know he’s interested in you?” 

“No one’s immune to Zayn Malik’s ass,” he said sagely, pursing his lips and nodding slightly. “I’ve seen him checking me out a few times.” And then, as if that was the entire basis of his infatuation, Zayn shrugged. “If it’s meant to be, then it will be. ‘m not gonna force it.” 

“But why leave it to fate if you can, very easily, walk across the quad and ask him out?” It was a question that Louis had stated aloud – in one form or another – multiple times in the past. 

Zayn actually seems to consider it for a moment, brows furrowing and his lips still pressed together. There’s a drawn-out pause before their eyes connect again Zayn flicking Louis off.  
“Shut up.” 

-

Louis was avoiding schoolwork.   
He truly was. 

He’d been back at the flat he shared with Zayn for a little over an hour and forty minutes, and he was loathe to admit that he’d spent the better part of that time alternating between the fridge and the pantry, hoping that dinner would somehow jump out at him. That somewhere, somehow, something would create itself in front of his eyes and announce ‘eat me!’

It wasn’t going to happen.  
Which meant that today was yet another occasion for take-out.  
Because Louis didn’t cook.   
Louis didn’t even pretend to cook. 

Oh, he and Zayn had attempted it before. When they had first moved in together, Zayn’s mother had gotten them all sorts of cookbooks, and they’d gotten it into their heads that they would recreate his mother’s gourmet macaroni and cheese. It even had bacon in it! 

Louis shuttered when he remembered the panic that had overcome them as they debated whether or not to try to salvage the pot.

One of them had managed to burn the boiling water – which he still wasn’t sure how that was even fucking possible. Physics? – And the macaroni noodles that Zayn had ‘followed the recipe’ to create rock solid. And the cheese! Creating melted cheese – which one would think was the easiest part of the entire dish – somehow turned into managing lumpy half burnt paste that neither one of them were willing to taste test. 

They had destroyed the evidence, hid the cookbooks, and decided that neither one of them would mention actually using the kitchen for it’s intended purpose again.   
Ever.

So takeout was the most normal occurrence within the Tomlinson-Malik flat. 

The only exception was when their favorite Irish chef – who was currently working towards actually becoming a Certified Master Chef – decided to grace them with his presence. 

Surveying the contents of his wallet, Louis actually wished that any second now, the lovely pint guzzling Niall Horan would burst through their door with ingredients, and Guinness, a demand that they allow him to work his magic in their kitchen. He adored their company, or so he said, but Niall openly wept for their poor neglected appliances. Every kitchen should be used at least twice a week, he would repeat at least three times as he worked, and this kitchen has been neglected far too often. 

But alas, the blue eyed bottle blonde – it didn’t matter if Niall said it was natural, Louis had seen his roots, the little shit – wasn’t appearing out of thin air to save him both money and time. 

And Louis wasn’t interested in tempting fate. 

He sent a quick text to Zayn, to tell him that food would be waiting for him when he got home from classes, and that he didn’t need to bring any with him, before slipping on his Vans and grabbing his Nike jumper off the back of the couch. If he was going to torture his body with Chinese food again tonight, he was at least going to make it work it work for it.   
And it wasn’t as if the walk was too far. It was about three blocks, give or take, and his trek to uni was so much longer than that. 

Alternating between actually watching his step, and concentrating on swinging his lanyard around his fingers without hitting an bystanders, Louis discovered that he actually didn’t really remember the trip, and soon enough, he was peering through cheap neon lights into the ostentatious eatery. A pair of bells alerted the woman at the counter of his presence, and he didn’t even bother to swing the door closed carefully. 

The brunette at the counter wasn’t amused, flipping the waves out of her eyes to stare at him. He took his time getting to the counter, if for no other reason than to watch her smirk, her dainty arms crossing against her chest, and the sleeves of her uniform shirt digging into her wrists. Leaning against the counter, she seemed shorter than his height, and he knew that the second he pointed it out, little miss model dainty in skinny jeans would most likely kick his ass. So he settled for taking his time staring at the menu while she thumped her pastel pink nails on the counter, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“Oh,” his eyes widened, as if he was finally noticing her standing here. “Hey El.” 

“Evenin’ Lou,” she tilted her head to the side to match his, pen doodling on the notepad while she waited for his order. 

“What am I getting’ you and Zayn tonight?” 

Louis paused, eyes scanning the menu again. “I may need a moment.” 

“Cheeky,” El scribbled something down on the pad and slid it across the window to the kitchen. He could keep her standing there all night if she let him.   
Which was why Eleanor Calder was the other one of Louis’s closest friends on campus. Their banter seemed never-ending, both trying to one-up the other and appearing nonchalant all at the same time. She was the younger sister that he didn’t have the privilege of growing up with, deciding that they were going to be friends their first year of university whether he wanted to be or not. She’d busted his tail through his first Calculus class, forcing him to actually study, and they’d been together ever since. 

“The menu’s been the same for the last three years,” she said finally, and Louis had to admit he wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. “And I’ve already put your order in Lou-Lou.” Eleanor was his equal in almost every single way, and the glint in her eyes reminded him that he trusted her with almost everything. Even the stuff he couldn’t tell Zayn. 

“And how did you know what I wanted?” He cocked his hip to the side, leaning against the counter slowly.

“You’ve ordered the same damn thing for how long now?” Her tongue peeked out from behind dusty pink lips. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t, either. Zayn’s the only one of the two of you that’s willing to try anything new.” 

“I do!” He pouted. “Sometimes,” Eleanor just quirked a brow, “Occasionally.” 

She rolled her chocolate eyes and sighed. “Of course you do, Lou.”

“Your job description says you take my order, not give me lip.” He reminded her gently, pointing to the notepad.

A ding from behind them pulled her attention away as she reached for the to-go bags. “I get to do both for special customers.” She double-checked the order and slid over to the register, hand out for his cash. 

“You’re not even going to tell me how much it is?” Louis handed over the bills with another smile, enjoying their little game for the night.

“If you’d been nice to me, I wouldn’t have kept your change either,” Eleanor handed him the bag with a flick of her wrist, dropping the few coins she had taken from the register into the tip jar. “Have a good night, Louis!” 

“See you tomorrow, El!” A quick mock salute and Louis was out the door and headed back to his flat, food in hand.   
Zayn had somehow managed to dip out of his lecture early to make it home before Louis had, and plates were set on the coffee table with water bottles in preparation for the younger man’s return.

“El took my change again.” Louis grumbled, stuffing a wonton from Zayn’s plate into his mouth as he shoveled his boneless spare ribs onto his own.   
Zayn just laughed. “You really should be nicer to that girl.” 

“I am nice!” Louis pulled his jumper over his head and threw it in the direction of his room. “She’s the mean one.” 

“The mean one with three of your quid in her pocket tonight.” Zayn chomped down on his lo mein with gusto. “Next time compliment her shoes.” 

Louis flicked his best mate off, reaching for his water bottle. “I’ll flick something off,” he decided, reaching for his maths book. He had deserved this quiet night in.

-

With no surprise to anyone, the next morning Louis found himself once again in front of the coffee shop he’d discovered. Of course Harry was behind the bar.   
Was it even possible for that boy to look as good as he did that early in the morning? Louis sighed, and slowly pulled open the door. The jingling bells didn’t catch him off guard this time. 

He couldn’t say the same for Harry, who once again seemed distracted with something behind the counter. It was all well, Louis decided, using that time to get a longer glance of the man. Harry was dressed smartly in a lavender scoop neck sweater this time, his apron double knotted to hold over his hips, and his black skinnies reminding Louis just how long the man’s legs were. And he was concentrating very carefully on something, lips pursed into a pout, as Louis tried very hard to come up with something witty to say. 

“You’d think that one would actually try to pay attention to the door –” Louis stopped dead as Harry’s eyes rose to meet his, almost quite literally lost in his eyes once again. Bracing his forearms on the counter, Louis leaned in carefully. 

“You’re rolling out dough.” He announced dumbly. “What are you making?” 

“Well good morning to you too, Louis Tomlinson.” Dimples appeared with a wide grin, and Harry set down his rolling pin in favor of moving closer to the counter Louis was resting against. “And I got a wild hair to play with a piñata cookie idea that I saw somewhere.” 

A soft pink painted his cheeks, as Louis nodded, not too sure why he was still trying to see the rolled out dough. He took a deep doughy breath as he realized that his position on the counter put him even closer to Harry. Well, now he knew that the man smelled delicious as well. A loose chocolate curl, defying the off-white head scarf that Harry was sporting this morning, tickled Louis’s cheek, and he caught his breath. 

“Looks great!” Louis missed a syllable somewhere in the two words, and he threw a quick glance up to Harry’s eyes to see if he noticed. 

If he did, Harry didn’t show it, and Louis was grateful. “Thanks,” a floured hand came up to push the curl back into place. “I came in a bit early to get started.” A couple breaths away, head tilted in Louis direction, Harry continued, “but that’s not why you’re here.” Another breath, and Harry seemed to hold himself upright. “What would you like.” 

Louis almost pouted at the lack of proximity.

“Same as yesterday?” He asked with a grin.

That’s how it started at least.   
For the next few days – 31 specifically, not that Louis had been counting, or Zayn had begun marking it on the calendar like the shit roommate that he was – Louis got up early to walk to the little hole in the wall café that he had begun to think of as his to see his gorgeous floppy haired barista. Every day he discovered something new about the place, and Harry, and tried whatever concoction he was handed. 

Zayn made it a point to mention that Louis, who grumbled about bills and how he didn’t have enough cash to pitch in for dinner when Zayn ordered, always found enough in his wallet to buy his morning tea. 

He kept the bit to himself about how Louis was always slipping in new and ‘interesting’ facts about his new mate Harry. 

Harry, who did sunrise yoga five times a week. Harry, who seemed to have the grace of a newborn giraffe, yet Louis still described as graceful. Harry, whose Dad left when he was 7 and managed to grow up so fast. Harry who, despite any situation he’s given, always seems to have something optimistic to say. Harry, who works at the café because he genuinely loves baking and wants to help the owner out when he can. Harry, the gentle giant with a heart bigger than he is – which Zayn asked for pictures of just to be an ass. 

But he couldn’t help the smile on his face when his roommate continued on. Because for the first time since he’d met him, Louis was smitten.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow so you've gotten this far. Welp. Thank you for reading. I'm always open to critique and comments, and if anyone actually liked this enough I have a decent enough idea for a sequel.


End file.
